


The Homecoming

by keraunoscopia



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Body Worship, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Romance, Smut, reconnecting, subtle references to pain kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 05:30:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13229055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keraunoscopia/pseuds/keraunoscopia
Summary: Sonny counts the steps as he walks up the eight stories to the apartment he hasn’t called home in nearly ten months. Two flights to a story, ten steps to a flight, a hundred and sixty steps to the landing. The count calms him, reminds him that this is still his home, the same familiar place he had moved into three years ago, the apartment he shares with Rafael.





	The Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> This was written under the influence of (a lot of) New Years Eve Champagne and an insistent devil on my shoulder named Jaci (astronaut_milky). Quick thank you to Maggie (tobeconspicuous) for making it more cohesive and not just drunk filthy ramblings. I'm resisting the urge to delete this entirely so I hope you all don't hate it.

Sonny counts the steps as he walks up the eight stories to the apartment he hasn’t called home in nearly ten months. The elevator works, of course, the building is nicer than anywhere he’s ever lived, with carrera marble floors and a doorman who actually takes the time to screen the people who enter the building, who checks IDs and calls upstairs to make sure that guests are welcome. He had stopped Sonny at the entrance, confused by his unkempt appearance, the scruff on his cheeks, hair falling almost to his shoulders. It’s a curated look, one to play a part, one he’ll shed at the earliest chance he gets, but for now, Sonny has something else on his mind. 

Two flights to a story, ten steps to a flight, a hundred and sixty steps to the landing. The count calms him, reminds him that this is still his home, the same familiar place he had moved into three years ago, the apartment he shares with Rafael. He adjusts the backpack thrown over his shoulder, strap digging into his skin uncomfortably. For nine months, three week and five days the backpack had been home instead, carrying everything he needed. It’s meaningless now, the clothes in it were never his, the phone never had any of the pictures or messages he treasured, but the heavy weight of it is something he’s grown accustomed to. Without it he feels too exposed. 

It takes him six long strides to get from the landing to the door, the same as always, and the door is thick, solid oak stained dark tawny. Before he reaches for the doorknob, shiny brass, he lets his fingertips trace the knots, the deep gash just underneath the number plate. He wants the place to feel like home, and really it’s exactly like he remembers it, but everything seems just a little bit askew, like the scar in the wood is just a little left of center. Sonny pauses for a moment, he can feel the weighty pull of keys in his pants pocket, resting against his thigh. One of them fits into the lock because they’re his keys, and this is his home. Still, he raises his hand instead, and raps his knuckles lightly against the door. It hurts more than it really should, wood against the thin skin of his fingers, and the sound it makes is hardly enough to echo through the apartment. 

But he knows Rafael is home. He knows because Olivia told him when the team finally brought him in, because she had taken one look at his sallow skin and the near charcoal colored circles under his eyes, the dull sheen of grey-blue irises and had told him to go home, to Rafael, that they could debrief in the morning. And if things haven’t changed too much in ten months, he knows Rafael is sitting in the walnut leather armchair, a book or a journal or a casefile across his lap, reading glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Rafael always waits up for him, even when Sonny works late hours and shows up at the apartment exhausted. And aching, and nearly falling asleep on his feet; Rafael is still awake. He takes Sonny’s jacket from him, pulls off his tie and guides him to bed. Sonny always asks, tells Rafael it’s okay if he’s sleeping when Sonny gets home, that he doesn’t want the ADA to be more sleep deprived than he needs to be. But Rafael says the same thing every time, that he’s been an insomniac all his life, that he only sleeps well when they’re together anyway. Sonny wonders how Rafael has fared at sleeping alone for the last ten months.

His pulse quickens as he waits at the door, only silence on the other side, and he thinks that maybe things have changed more than he anticipated. Maybe Rafael isn’t sitting in the chair close enough to the door to hear his weak knock, maybe Rafael has grown so used to sleeping alone now that he’s in bed now, not bothering to wake up. Sonny’s stomach churns at the thought, but a cool wave of relief washes over him when he hears footsteps, the heavy creak of wooden floorboards, and the jostling of the brass lock. 

When the door swings open, Sonny’s met with a brief look of confusion, and then dawning comprehension. He knows he looks different, knows that with the hair tucked behind his ears and the scruff he hasn’t let grow out this long since his beat cop days, he’s practically unrecognizable, but Rafael’s fleeting moment of hesitation still feels like a bullet to the chest. Then Rafael steps, almost lunges forward, his arms circle Sonny’s waist, pulling him flush, like if he tries hard enough he can blur the line between two individual bodies. He buries his head in Sonny’s neck, where the column of his throat meets his shoulder and he breathes in deeply. 

“Thank god you’re home,” Rafael whispers and only then does Sonny realize that he’d been as still as a statue, rooted in place, weighed down by the anxiety that something between them might not be the same as when he left. Rafael’s words sound like a hymn, soft and otherworldly. It drags Sonny back; he relaxes into the embrace, tension melting from his stiff shoulders. 

He lets the backpack drop to the floor, a heavy thud that neither seem to notice. The backpack had been his anchor to the real world, an anchor to Sonny, the person he really was, but with Rafael there, the smell of leather, coffee, and sandalwood overwhelming his senses, he doesn’t need that anchor anymore. 

Sonny reaches up slowly, palming Rafael’s cheek. He expects soft skin, the ADA never lets a five o’clock shadow grace the sharp planes of his jaw, never likes to feel unkempt. So when Sonny’s finger drags lazily over Rafael’s chin, he’s taken aback by the coarse stubble against his skin. Not enough to see in the dark light of the hallway, but the sensation reminds him that there are ten months of unknowing between them. Ten months they’ve spent apart living lives neither of them could talk about. 

He leans in, acutely aware of the space between them, that it’s not just a matter of inches, that you can’t measure that kind of gap with a ruler; but he wants to taste Rafael. He wants to let himself bask in the familiarity, push all of the questions and the spaces to later, but Rafael takes a step back. His hands still rest on Sonny’s narrow hips, fingers curled in the soft worn fabric of his hoodie, but all Sonny can sense is the startling loss he feels without the length of Rafael’s body pressed against his. 

“Inside,” Rafael explains, though it does nothing to alleviate the sharp sting. The ADA pulls at his hoodie, and Sonny reaches down to grab his bag again, stepping across the threshold into the apartment he’s been dreaming about for months. 

The door swings shut behind him, Sonny can’t help but jump at the resounding slam of the wood hitting the door jam. He had been on high alert for nearly a year, never a moment to relax, never a moment to feel safe, the anxiety had woven itself into the fiber of his being, and he wasn’t sure how to let it go just yet. 

“Sonny,” Rafael breathes out again, taking a step closer, narrowing that space between them. Not the one created by ten months of separation, but the one he had created by pulling away. The name sounds foreign in the detective’s ears, like the feeling of a word on the tip of your tongue but still just out of reach. 

Sonny shakes his head slightly, it’s his name, he reminds himself even though it’s the first time he’s heard it since going under. He tilts his chin up to look at Rafael, his face. That soft expression of affection, of concern, of relief feels more like home than the apartment does. But it’s different too. The grey on Rafael’s temples has creeped up slightly, curling in the usually styled wave against his forehead. The creases at his eyes, in his brow seem deeper, but his eyes are everything that Sonny remembers, mottled sage and moss, a depth that his memory could only begin to imagine. 

“Do you want to talk tonight?” Rafael asks, and Sonny knows why. He knows that Rafael knows him better than he knows himself at this point, knows that there’s a reason that Sonny hasn’t spoken a word yet, knows that it’s more than exhaustion. Sonny shakes his head. He knows that the words won’t come right now even if he wanted to, that there aren’t enough combinations of letters in the English language to articulate the esoterism, the dissonance he’s feeling, returning to a life he had to cast aside, return to a person he had to stop being. 

“No,” when Sonny finally speaks, his voice cracks, it’s rough from disuse, and he can see the worry lines deepen on Rafael’s forehead. “Can we just…” he trails off, not quite sure how to ask for what he needs, imploring Rafael to understand without saying. Sonny takes a step closer. He’s always been taller than Rafael, always loved the way the ADA’s head tucks so nicely under his chin, but right now Sonny feels small. “I just need you, right now,” he finally lets out with a sigh. 

Rafael nods, at this moment, drinking in the sight of Sonny, like war-torn collateral, sallow and broken, there’s nothing he wouldn’t give him. He reaches out to curl his fingers around the hem of Sonny’s hoodie, and drags him closer. Sonny leans into the touch, lips finding purchase against Rafael’s, his hand curling around the nape of his neck trembling slightly against his skin. 

Rafael’s hands rest on his narrow hips, fingers gripping so tightly that Sonny’s sure there will be bruises tomorrow, but the contact, skin on skin is intoxicating, addictive. He wonders, for a moment, if Rafael can tell how much more his hip bones jut out now, if he can tell how much weight he lost in the last ten months, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on the insecurity, because Rafael takes a step back, and then another, pulling Sonny along with him. 

Sonny remembers the path to Rafael’s bedroom, their bedroom, he has to remind himself. He’s not quite sure how they end up there, his back pressed into black silk sheets, his sweatshirt and tee lifting over his head in one fluid motion. He shivers as the cool air of the apartment hits his bare skin, he can’t see the litany of bumps rising across his chest and on his arms, but he can feel them prickling, drawing his attention away from the man hovering over him for a moment. 

Then Rafael’s hand is splaying across his stomach, the heavy weight of it against his subtly defined abs pulls him back into the moment. It’s like a lightning rod, channeling all of his fears and anxieties and the electric current of arousal to his stomach, to Rafael’s long fingers. His breath catches in his throat, and he looks up at Rafael, wide eyed and begging. 

He needs this, more than anything, needs to revel in the tactile sensation of Rafael dragging his lips across his throat, needs the sharp pain of bites against his collar bone, down his chest. Some people seek out alcohol, or drugs, the high of gambling or adrenaline, but Sonny has never wanted to get away. He doesn’t want to escape, he wants to come home, he wants the feeling of his feet rooted into the earth, wants to feel here. Rafael is like a gravitational pull, a universal force, drawing him closer. Sonny has faith that the pull between them is strong enough to weather any storm, bridge any chasm that grows between them, strong enough to pull worlds together. 

“Can I?” Rafael’s voice is low, heady as his fingers play across the waist of Sonny’s jeans, resting over the metal clasp. Sonny loves that about him, that no matter how clear the implications are, no matter how many times they do this, he still wants to be clear. There’s no chance of miscommunication between them, not after everything they’ve done, everything they have seen. 

Sonny just nods and swallows hard. Even after all this time, he can’t imagine anything more exquisite than the man straddling him. Thighs clothed in thin cotton parted over his, looking down at him with no pretense, no walls, just unbridled vulnerability. He props himself up on his elbows, ignoring the strain and ache of his muscles as he watches practiced fingers at the button of his jeans, sliding the zipper down excruciatingly slow. Sonny’s breath catches again, biting back a soft groan, trapped in the back of his throat. He lifts his hips when Rafael’s hooks his fingers into the waistband, sliding the rest of his clothing off his lanky form. If it were anyone else, Sonny might feel exposed, laying there naked and half hard, with a fully clothed man brazenly letting his eyes wander. But it’s not anyone else, it’s Rafael. More than anything, he wants the man to see him, to see Sonny, the detective, the lawyer, the bullied kid from Staten Island, the Italian Catholic. Because maybe if Rafael sees him, really sees him, Sonny can start feeling like himself again. 

He sits up again, a hand splayed across the silk sheets to hold himself up, elbow buckling slightly under his weight. “Rafael,” he breathes out softly, but it almost sounds like a prayer. 

“What do you need?” Rafael asks, casting Sonny’s clothes to the floor, the mattress dipping under the weight of his knees, eyes trained on the younger man, spread out in front of him. It’s more than a question between them, it’s a cultivated phrase. It’s an acknowledgment. To Sonny, it says, I hear you, I understand you, and I want to help you. It has passed back and forth between them with practiced ease over the years. Responding is harder. Sonny has a way with words most times, but articulating what he needs is a different sort of obstacle. 

Rafael leans in while Sonny’s mind runs through his vocabulary, tries to synthesize some sort of phrase, he brushes his lips across Sonny’s still pink and slightly swollen; he lets his fingertips trace the length of Sonny’s sides, over the scars he remembers, some that he doesn’t, over the sharp point of his hip bones. There are a lot of things Sonny needs, but right now there’s only so much that Rafael can give him. 

“You,” Sonny finally decides, in a reverent whisper, “inside me, please.” It’s an unnecessary plea, he knew Rafael could never bring himself to say no to Sonny, not now, not like this. 

“Of course,” Rafael’s breath is hot and sticky against Sonny’s skin before he pulls away. “Anything in the world, love.” It’s barely an exaggeration, Sonny knows that the line Rafael won’t cross for him is somewhere adjacent to sheer impossibility. He sits back on his heels, peeling off his cotton tee shirt. 

Sonny’s appreciative sigh is so quiet he thinks that Rafael may have missed it, but a soft smile plays across his lips. Even now, with Rafael is so content to focus on Sonny, and what he needs, Sonny wants to make sure the ADA knows just how much he wants him. 

“You’re as beautiful as I remembered,” Sonny smiles for the first time since he showed up at the door. The familiar sight, Rafael bare chested, dark sparse curls and soft curves, it hits Sonny square in his gut, and anchors him there. The faintest hint of a blush flares across Rafael’s cheeks, darkening the bridge of his nose, and he stands, shedding the loose cotton pants before returning to the bed, his toned arms bracketing Sonny’s head, chest grazing chest, parting Sonny’s thighs with his knee before grinding against him, hard but slow. 

The escalation is quicker than Sonny expects, catches him off guard, and his petal pink lips part to let out a low groan. A smirk blossoms on Rafael’s mouth, Sonny is usually so quiet, so reserved, Catholic shame instilled in the very core of his being; it usually takes the heady throws of climax to elicit anything more than soft gasps and whimpers from the detective. Encouraged, Rafael rocks his hips against Sonny’s again, his own length pressed against his thigh, and he doesn’t bother trying to bite back a soft moan against Sonny’s neck. The detective’s hands are at his back, fingers curling, grasping at him, digging into his skin in a way that would be painful if it weren’t for the growing arousal in the pit of his stomach, washing over his other senses. 

Sonny cants his hips off the bed, searching for sensation, and he presses his lips against Rafael’s ear, humid breath sending a shudder down the ADA’s spine. “Please, please,” the words ghost over Rafael’s skin, so small and broken.

Rafael untangles their legs, and rolls onto his side, reaching for the nightstand. Sonny lets out a hushed whimper, from the loss of contact, from the cold, from the sudden space between them again. “Shh,” Rafael whispers, pressing a kiss to Sonny’s temple, another to his jaw, and then his lips. Sonny responds immediately, parting his mouth, warm and inviting. Sonny is always quick to open up, to let Rafael in, as though any wall around him has a Rafael-shaped hole in it. 

“I’m so glad you’re home,” Rafael murmurs as he settles back down between Sonny’s thighs. Sonny know’s he doesn’t expect a response, Sonny has already said he doesn’t want to talk tonight, and Rafael knows better than to push, he knows how much the detective loves his voice, loves the affirmations. 

Sonny bends his knees, lets them part slightly for Rafael, it’s not usual between them, but nothing new, any embarrassment had disappeared years ago, and so he just lets the anticipation flood his senses. His head falls back, pulse quickening, mouth parting in a soundless moan at the slow, slick intrusion. Rafael’s free hand tightens around his thigh, a bruising grip. Everything about Rafael is conflict, juxtaposition. He’s hard and soft, like harsh morning coffee, bitter but sweet. When Rafael curls his fingers, Sonny feels like he could lose himself in the throes of pleasure, but the grip on Sonny’s thigh tightens to pull him back, ground him. 

There’s no urgency in their movements, no building desperation, it’s been ten months but neither want to rush. It’s different than the last time, frenzied and rough, each chasing something to hold on to. There had been no way of knowing how long Sonny would be gone. Now they know they have the rest of the night at least, they have the time to relearn each other, and Rafael seems to want nothing more than that, Sonny curling and shuddering, writhing under his soft touch. Rafael stretches him so gently, so much longer than necessary, seemingly reveling in the way Sonny’s breath catches when he hooks his fingers, the wordless gasps for air when he withdraws. 

Sonny can’t focus on anything but the soft touches, like all of his other senses have dulled, faded, leaving him honed in on each featherlight movement. It reminds him of goodbye, the way that Rafael’s fingertips grazed his hand when he turned to leave ten months ago, desperate for each last moment of contact, unwilling to withdraw until there was nothing left to hold onto. This time though, it’s Rafael who pulls away, and Sonny whimpers softly, craning his neck, eyes searching for explanation. 

He finds it on Rafael’s face, his green eyes dark and loving but needy. Sonny lets himself relax, and every nerve ending in his skin prickles rapid fire. “You have absolutely no idea what you do to me,” Rafael murmurs, tucking long strands of hair behind Sonny’s ears, nothing but utter adoration on his face. And then Sonny can feel Rafael nudging against him, hard, slick, and just the illusory contact draws out a moan from deep in his chest. 

Sonny shifts underneath him, pale hands against bronze skin, nails digging into his back. He flips through memories of the past ten months, the terrible things he had to do, the terrible things he had to say, the terrible person he had to be, and it’s overwhelming, he can feel tears welling in his slate blue eyes, can’t seem to meet Rafael’s gaze. “Please,” he chokes out, a hand dropping to Rafael’s hip with encouragement. 

Rafael doesn’t need anything more than that, and presses inside of him in one smooth movement of his hips, biting back a low groan. Sonny doesn’t have the same reservation, just tips his head back, a hand dropping to the bed, fisting in the silk sheets as he moans. Rafael is gentle, but it still hurts just enough, just enough to remind Sonny that this is real, that it’s not a dream, that he’s here, home, with Rafael. 

Rafael drops his head, pressing his cheek to Sonny’s, steadying his ragged breath against the crook of his neck. Sonny knows he must feel the wet trail of tears against his skin, ice cold against flushed cheeks, and he hesitates. But Sonny lets out another soft moan, rakes his nails down Rafael’s back, rolls his hips off the bed and Rafael’s reservations are gone. 

Rafael finds an easy rhythm, Sonny’s hips rising to meet each sharp thrust like a heavy primordial drum beat, and Sonny just surrenders to sensitivity, each neuron in his body licked red hot. This is what he had been missing for ten months, what he had been searching for since. This, with his pulse thudding in his ears, breath caught in his throat, Rafael buried deep inside him, was coming home. 

“I love you,” Rafael manages out, lips ghosting over the flesh of Sonny’s shoulder, biting back a moan. It’s all Sonny needs to push him over the edge, body tensing, arms splayed out like angel wings, fists curled in black silk as he comes, shuddering and untouched, painting streaks across his chest. 

Rafael moves in unsteady rhythm, just a few sharp thrusts to join Sonny on the other side of sensation, muscles clenching, tightening, riding out the wave with a shallow, languid roll of his hips before he collapses next to Sonny. 

Their chests rise and fall in time for a few moments before Sonny turns onto his side, eyes tracing the expanse of bronze skin in front of him, refreshing each stored memory filed away. “I missed you, so much,” his eyes are still dark cobalt blue and watery. He doesn’t know how to say that he missed himself too, missed the person he is when he’s with Rafael. 

Rafael reaches over slowly, toying with strands of long hair before letting his fingertips graze the coarse scruff at Sonny’s cheek, “I missed you too,” he murmurs his reply before standing up, disappearing from the room for a moment. 

Sonny relaxes into the soft plush comfort of the bed, stretching out his aching limbs. Even now, the silk against his skin is a conscious comfort, and a far cry from cheap scratchy motel sheets. Rafael returns a moment later, unabashedly debauched, and traces the painted planes of Sonny’s stomach and chest with a warm washcloth. 

“Come here,” Rafael encourages as he slips under the covers, and Sonny doesn’t need to be told twice, presses himself against the ADA’s side, tucks his head into the crook of Rafael’s neck, breathing in his scent. In the morning they’ll have to talk. Sonny will have to reveal exactly what it was he was working on, the horrible things he saw and did. But for now, Sonny is content to curl up next to the only man he’s ever loved, because he’s home.


End file.
